Time is one of the most convincing illusions in our world. It appears fixed and linear—past behind us, future ahead, and now as just a fleeting moment sandwiched between two unknowns. From childhood, we are taught to value time: not to waste it, to use it wisely, to race against it. And as we age, time becomes more than a measurement—it becomes a pressure, a fear, a countdown.
But A Course in Miracles challenges all of this. It invites us to see time not as a ruthless taskmaster or a ticking clock, but as a tool. Time, the Course tells us, can be repurposed. What was once a vehicle for fear and decay can become a classroom of peace and love. When surrendered to Spirit, time doesn’t just move us forward—it brings us home.
That’s the miracle: time can teach us eternity.
At first, this seems contradictory. How can something temporary reveal what is timeless? How can a limited experience uncover an unlimited reality?
It happens in the same way that a dream—however surreal—can carry a message that stays with us long after we wake. Time is part of the dream, but within it are symbols, lessons, and opportunities that point beyond the veil. The Holy Spirit’s role is to reinterpret every event, every delay, every disappointment, and every joyful meeting as a means of remembering the eternal truth of who we are.
We think time imprisons us. Spirit uses it to free us.
One of the most important concepts in A Course in Miracles is the “holy instant.” The holy instant is not a specific date or scheduled event—it is any moment we release judgment and remember love. In that instant, time collapses. Eternity rushes in. We touch the infinite in the ordinary.
You’ve felt it, whether or not you had words for it. That moment when you were fully present—watching a child sleep, gazing at the ocean, holding someone’s hand in silence, or feeling sudden peace during a storm of uncertainty. The past and future vanish, and only the now remains—so vast, so still, so complete. That is a glimpse of eternity within time.
Time doesn’t have to be the enemy. It becomes the enemy when we live in the past or dread the future. It becomes a burden when we fill it with guilt or delay forgiveness. But when we bring our awareness fully into the present and ask, “What is this moment for?”—time opens, softens, and heals.
There’s a quote I remember from a Readers’ Digest calendar in the 1990s. I cut it out and saved it for years:
“We crucify ourselves between two thieves—regret for yesterday and fear of tomorrow.”
How many lifetimes have we lived pinned between those thieves? We drag the past behind us like a chain of guilt and what-ifs, and we project dread into a future that hasn’t even happened yet. Meanwhile, the present—our only point of power—passes by unnoticed. The Course tells us: “Now is the closest approximation of eternity that this world offers.” In other words, this moment is our point of access to God.
There was a period in my life when I resisted the passing of time. I was aging, my voice had changed, my roles were shifting, and with them came a deep anxiety: Have I done enough? Am I running out of time? The Course gently redirected me. It taught me that time is not measured in what I achieve or accumulate. It is redeemed through how I see.
Time becomes holy when it is used for healing.
Even painful experiences, when seen with Spirit, are transformed. The lost years, the regrets, the “wrong turns”—none of them are wasted. Spirit wastes nothing. Every seeming detour becomes a path back to love when we are willing to let it be used that way.
This is why forgiveness is so central to the Course’s teaching. Forgiveness is the miracle that redeems the past. It lifts the weight of guilt and reinterprets every moment through the eyes of compassion. And in doing so, it frees the future as well. We are no longer bound by cycles of shame or fear. We are free to walk in grace.
When we forgive, we experience time differently. The urgency melts away. We stop trying to race to some imagined finish line and instead relax into trust. We stop measuring life by how much time we have left and begin to live by how present we are now.
The truth is, eternity is not some distant afterlife. Eternity is now. It is the timeless essence of what you are. It cannot be touched by age, illness, or death. It cannot be improved or diminished. It is always here, waiting patiently behind every thought, every breath, every heartbeat.
And so time becomes the space where we remember eternity—not through striving, but through surrender. Not by trying to escape the moment, but by entering it fully.
Here are a few ways we can let time teach us eternity:
- Pause before reacting. That single breath you take before responding can turn an argument into a miracle.
- Invite the Holy Spirit into your schedule. Even the busiest day can become sacred if offered in willingness.
- Let go of the story. Whatever happened last year, last week, or ten minutes ago—can be reinterpreted through love.
- Welcome the holy instant. You don’t need a mountaintop or a meditation retreat. Just an open heart.
The Course says, “A miracle is never lost. It touches many people you may not even know, and sometimes produces undreamed-of changes in situations of which you are not even aware.” That’s the beauty of giving time to Spirit. Even the smallest act of love can ripple across dimensions.
We think eternity is far away. It’s not. It’s simply the truth we’ve covered up with layers of distraction, delay, and defense. When we stop defending against the now, eternity reveals itself.
So what, then, is the true purpose of time?
It’s not to run out.
It’s not to accumulate achievements.
It’s not to “get it right.”
The true purpose of time is to heal the belief in time itself. To let go of the illusion of separation and remember the wholeness that has never been lost.
One day, the illusion of time will fall away entirely. The Course assures us: “The time will come when you will not return in the same form, for you will have no need of it.” But until then, we walk gently through time, knowing it is not our master—but our servant.
Let every hour become a prayer. Let every day be a chapter in your remembering. Let every moment, no matter how mundane, become a meeting point between heaven and earth.
Because when we give time to love, it teaches us what has always been true:
We are eternal.
We are whole.
We are home.
